


Big Brother

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Attitude Problem, Gen, Guns, Hero Worship, Immaturity, Reluctant Mentoring, robberies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: When Neal unexpectedly acquires a teenage male admirer who wants to learn from the master, he’s not quite sure how to put a damper on the kid’s enthusiasm to know the nuts and bolts of breaking the law. Suddenly, a con man finds himself standing in Peter’s shoes trying to decide if it should be a case of tough love, or of being a bit flexible so that he can cover up any messes.





	1. The "Come To Jesus" Talk

Two rather mismatched people pushed through the glass doors of the FBI office one Monday just before 11 AM. Neal was seated at his desk and looked up to see a somewhat harried middle-aged man in a grey suit look around uncertainly. He was slightly round-shouldered with a receding hairline and a grim expression on his face. Lagging a few feet behind him was a tall, lanky teenage boy in baggy cargo pants with long, unkempt hair and a nose ring. It was obvious that the kid was literally oozing hostility from every pore. The older man stopped indecisively for a second before apparently coming to a decision. He turned to the boy behind him and barked “Sit!” as he pointed to Diana’s empty chair. There seemed to be a silent power struggle in play as each stared at the other menacingly, but eventually the youngster gave up the contest of wills and threw himself into the seat where he slouched down and crossed his arms tightly across his body. Jones glanced up briefly and merely raised an eyebrow before returning his focus to his computer screen.

Satisfied that he had finally been obeyed, the man in the bland suit tiredly climbed the stairs to Peter’s office. Neal was certainly curious to know the dynamics of this visit, but one look at the teenager told him nothing would be forthcoming on that front. Any social overtures were definitely not going to be welcomed. It was obvious that the kid did not want to be here, but apparently, he had been outvoted by his older companion. Interesting—very interesting. Neal was certainly going to pick Peter’s brain for tidbits later in the day.

Peter had seen the two visitors enter the bullpen, and he was standing on the balcony outside his office when an old acquaintance reached him. He shook hands with David Dunlop, the man who had been his roommate when they were both math majors in college. The two hadn’t actually kept in close contact after graduation. As the years unfolded, they had pursued their future careers in vastly different directions. Peter went to Quantico and came to know the Bureau as his home away from home. Dave Dunlop had taken an accounting job in a vast manufacturing firm, married, and bought a home across the Hudson in Newark. Over the years, their paths never again crossed until Peter had received a phone call the day before from Dunlop. It seemed that Peter’s old roommate was reaching out to his former friend because of problems with his son.

“Peter, I’m at the end of my rope,” Dunlop said desperately as he sat across from Peter in the small office. “My boy, Dylan, is really a good kid, or at least he used to be,” the man continued. “But then I’m sure that’s what all fathers say when their sixteen-year-old kid runs amok.”

“Tell me what’s going on with him, Dave,” Peter encouraged. “You were a little vague on the phone yesterday when you requested this meeting. How can I help?”

The older, worried man took a deep breath and tried to put the problem into context for Peter. “Dylan is my only child. His mother, Marjorie, and I have doted on him since the day he was born. Maybe that’s part of the problem. In retrospect, perhaps we may have been too overbearing and that caused him to recently start displaying rebellious behavior.”

Peter smiled. “Sixteen is probably a prime time for rampant teenage angst and dedicated rebellion thanks to raging levels of testosterone. I think we all went through that to some degree in our youths.”

Dunlop just grimaced. “Yeah, I could handle the usual curfew violations and the smart-assed attitude, but it was a bit harder to tolerate the body piercing and the tattoo of the dragon on his shoulder. But we’re way past all that now. It’s gotten very serious and very official,” the worried father informed Peter.

“How so?” Peter asked solicitously.

“Dylan managed to get in with the wrong crowd at school—older classmen who are little more than thugs. They run wild with no parental control and they’re into some really shady stuff. Dylan follows along in their wake like a wanna be, and he managed to get himself into some very deep and dangerous water.”

“What kind of stuff?” Peter asked.

Dunlop had a hard time meeting Peter’s eyes. “Well, at first it was just taking spray cans of paint and tagging buildings, then it was a bit of shoplifting, but last week three of them tried to boost a car and they got nabbed in the act by the local police. Dylan was supposed to have been their lookout.”

“It seems like the malicious mischief had escalated to grand theft auto and that’s a felony,” Peter said evenly. “If you’re asking me to make those charges go away for Dylan, I really can’t help you.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here. Marjorie and I took out a second mortgage on our house to post bail and to get him a good lawyer. Because he’s only sixteen and has no previous offenses on any criminal record, he was tried as a juvenile. He got 100 hours of community service by a very lenient judge.”

“Maybe that experience was enough to scare him back on the straight and narrow path,” Peter suggested softly.

“I wish I could believe that,” Dunlop replied forlornly, “but I think it only made him more determined than ever to be some tough guy. I just can’t fathom why that is so important to him.”

“What can I do to help?” Peter again asked.

David Dunlop finally had the courage to look Peter in the eye. “You’re an FBI agent so that gives you a lot of credible weight. I was hoping you could talk to Dylan and put the fear of God into him. Make him too afraid to break the law again.”

Peter was quiet for a few seconds. “So, are you suggesting I should forgo the carrot and just apply the stick? Is that what you want me to do, Dave? Unfortunately, that may not work, my friend. Your son may begin to hate you for bringing in a complete stranger to rehash his impetuous actions. Dylan may feel that you have violated his trust and I am infringing on his privacy. Neither one of those outcomes is a good thing, by any stretch of the imagination.”

If possible, Dunlop’s weary shoulder slumped even lower. “Please, Peter, it really can’t get any worse. I think my son already hates me, but I can stand that if your intervention may turn the tide. I don’t want to get a call one night or a knock on my door and have an anonymous voice tell me that Dylan is lying dead in the street somewhere.”

Peter was moved by the fear of the distraught man before him. Although, Peter wasn’t a father, he knew that gut-wrenching emotional upheaval when Neal was in danger. He had almost developed an ulcer over the years of their chase watching the daredevil idiot leaping across the roofs of skyscrapers, or ziplining from window to window, or even base jumping to the street below as he eluded capture. Even now that Neal was safely on a leash, Peter still fretted and worried more times than he cared to admit.

“Okay, Dave, I’ll give it a shot,” Peter finally capitulated. “I can’t promise any success, but I’ll have a little man-to-man sit down with Dylan. You’re welcome to be in the room when I start lecturing.”

“I think it would be best if I allowed him some personal space. I’ll wait for him down in the lobby. Peter, I can’t thank you enough, and I owe you for this,” Dunlop said sincerely.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Peter warned. “I just may piss the little delinquent off even more.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Jones, please escort that young man sitting next to you down to an interrogation room.”

“Sure, Peter,” the junior agent answered as he rose and stood before the very bored and glowering squatter. “You need to come with me, young man,” he said in a no-nonsense voice.

“Now why would I want to do that?” the kid asked in a contemptuous tone.

Jones leveled his most intimidating glare. “Because I’m an FBI agent and I said so! Now move your scrawny ass, boy.”

The teenager took his time sliding out of the chair and forcing his body erect. “Well, Mr. Tough Dude, I’m not exactly shaking in my boots. But, since I don’t have a choice in the matter, lead the way,” Dylan Dunlop sneered disrespectfully.

After the pair disappeared, Neal next watched the grey-suited man slowly walk out of the bullpen and into the elevator. Then he became distracted when he noticed Peter giving him the two-fingered summons.

“What’s with all the drama out there?” Neal asked curiously.

Peter laid out only the broad strokes, but Neal got the gist. “So, you’ve agreed to terrorize a minor because his father is your old friend?”

“It’s going to be more of a ‘Come to Jesus’ type thing,” Peter explained. “No terrorizing, just a statement of hard facts.”

Neal snorted out loud. “And you want me to come along because I’m the cautionary tale in your little sermon—the wayward son who eventually saw the light and was saved from a detestable life of infamous crime.”

“If the shoe fits,” Peter snickered, causing Neal to roll his eyes in frustration.

“I’m not really good with kids, Peter,” Neal objected.

“That boy is closer to you in age than he is to me,” Peter argued sensibly, “so maybe the two of you will be able to relate on some level, Peter Pan.”

“Whatever,” Neal huffed out, sounding _exactly_ like a petulant teenager.

Eventually, Peter and Neal reached the interrogation area and both stepped into the small claustrophobic room with the glaring lights. The waiting teenager was seated at a metal table drumming his fingers on its surface, no doubt to the rhythm of some hip-hop tune playing in his head. He looked up defiantly when Peter introduced himself.

“I’m Special Agent Peter Burke and this is my associate, Neal Caffrey,” he added as he hooked a thumb in Neal’s direction. The con man had casually meandered to the side and was leaning against a wall.

“I know my rights, and I don’t have to talk to either of you without my father or my lawyer present,” Dylan immediately barked out.

“You don’t have to say a word, my young friend,” Peter said solemnly. “All you have to do is listen.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” the boy replied stubbornly.

“Too bad, kiddo,” Peter taunted. “I’m going to say my piece anyway. You can act like a child and stick your fingers in your ears if you want, but that will just make you look like a ridiculous little brat.”

“Just give it your best shot, Mr. FBI Agent, and when you strike out, you can take yourself back to the dugout,” Dylan tried for a tough guy attitude after being pushed into a corner.

“Fair enough,” Peter agreed. “Now that we know where we stand, I’ll give you the facts in a nutshell without any embellishment or sugarcoating. I have been a Federal Agent working for our government for over fifteen years, and during that time I have arrested and put away a hell of a lot of criminals. It’s a very curious thing about those bad guys. A great many of them started on the path to rack and ruin when they were just about your age. Yep, they started out small—a bit of malicious bullying and intimidation here, a little smash and grab there. As time went on, they needed bigger and better things to get the same thrill, and pretty soon they found they had a certain reputation to uphold in their hoods. That’s when things got dicey and went off the rails.”

Peter didn’t think anything was getting through to this boy, so he decided to wrap it up. “People who commit crimes eventually get caught and have to pay the piper. Attica and Sing Sing prisons are scary and dangerous places to find yourself in. Stay on your current track and you’ll wind up very sorry you didn’t take a different train.”

It was at that point that Peter rose and left the room after giving Neal a raised eyebrow. The con man remained leaning against the wall for a few minutes before sauntering slowly over to the table across from the silent occupant.

“Agent Burke introduced me as his associate, but that’s not a really accurate description of my function,” Neal said softly. Without any more words spoken, he raised his left foot onto the edge of the table and pulled up his pant leg to expose his tracking anklet.

“I’m sure you know what that is,” Neal began. “It’s a little piece of ugly jewelry that keeps me on a very tight leash because I’m a criminal. I’m actually an alumni of Sing Sing working out the remainder of my sentence under some pretty strict and harsh conditions. Prison isn’t fun, Dylan. Every minute of every day people tell you what to do and when to do it. Your life doesn’t belong to you anymore and nothing is private. It’s still pretty much the same now, even if I’m not behind bars. Big Brother is always watching and knowing every little thing that I do.”

“So, are you expecting us to bond or something?” the teenager jeered.

“Not at all,” Neal said with a sarcastic little smile. “You’re not anywhere close to being in my exalted criminal league, Buddy. I’m an extremely clever con artist as well as a very accomplished thief, counterfeiter, and forger of artistic masterpieces. I’m the real deal and proud of it. But even the most brilliant and smartest man in the room can get tripped up. All it takes is a little lapse of attention or a small detail forgotten, and suddenly your world implodes and it all comes crashing down on your head. I got four years for bond forgery, then another four on top of that. That mounts up to almost a decade of my life that I can never get back. I may have amassed millions during my career, but now I’m renting one small room in an older lady’s house, so I’m not exactly living like a king. Are you beginning to see the big picture, Dylan? I guess I’m just sayin’ that maybe you should give your current aspirations for the future some serious thought.”

After that brief summary of his situation, Neal shrugged and left the room, gently closing the door behind him. Peter had been watching through the two-way glass and stared thoughtfully at Dylan Dunlop. It was anybody’s guess if either he or Neal had been successful getting the message across to the young juvenile delinquent.

“That kid seems like one tough cookie,” Neal remarked to Peter. “I don’t know if anybody can turn him around.”

“Kinda reminds me of someone I know,” Peter said fondly as he put an arm around Neal’s shoulders. “It’s challenging and baby steps all the way, but I’m an optimist, Buddy, so stay with me for the long haul.”


	2. Taking Stock

The following days turned into a week, then two. Peter didn’t hear from his old college roommate again, and he wondered if no news was good news. He hesitated to follow up, maybe because he didn’t want to hear the worst. Neal had almost forgotten about the kid with the attitude, but one night there was a knock on the door of his loft. When the con man opened it, there was the young rebel in the flesh.

“Dylan, what brings you here?” Neal asked curiously.

“I’ve been doing some Internet research on you,” the boy answered as he swaggered in without an invitation.

Neal crossed his arms and watched as the kid sauntered around the room taking in the furnishings as well as the illuminated skyline from Neal’s balcony. He finally pivoted in the middle of the floor and gazed at Neal condescendingly. “Is this what home realtors tout as ‘open concept’ living? I mean, the view’s pretty nice, but the square footage sucks.”

Neal smiled sardonically. “Did you just stop by to critique my crib, or is there another reason that you have graced me with your charming presence?”

“I just wanted to see if you were blowing smoke up my ass about your present circumstances,” the kid sneered.

“Trust me, Dylan, if I decided to blow smoke, you’d never get even a whiff,” Neal replied evenly.

The boy spied the bottle of Malbec on the table. “Hey, dude, I’m a guest in your house, so aren’t you going to be a gracious host and offer me a little of that vino?”

“What I can offer you is coffee, tea, or water,” Neal answered tersely.

“Aw, c’mon, man. A bit of alcohol may loosen my tongue and make me want to talk,” Dylan taunted. “Both you and that Burke guy wanted me to yak my head off the other week.”

Neal smiled an almost predatory smile when he answered. “I think that’s the exact reason you came here, Dylan—to talk, to gloat, to brag, or maybe a combination of all three. You don’t need any lubrication to flap your jaw hinges, Buddy, so let’s hear it.”

“You must think you’re pretty smart with your clever comebacks,” the boy scoffed.

“I _know_ I’m smart and clever,” Neal agreed. “I guess I’m curious to know how clever you think you are.”

“I’m pretty damn smart,” Dylan replied, stung by Neal’s offhanded putdown. “I told you that I did my research on you, and there’s a ton of stuff on the Web about Neal Caffrey and his past exploits. To tell you the truth, it was pretty impressive. But you got yourself caught and that wasn’t so cool. In fact, I was disappointed.”

“Sorry I failed to live up to your exacting standards,” Neal answered. “Are we done now?”

Dylan didn’t answer. He had meandered over to an oil painting in progress on Neal’s easel. “Man, you really are a pretty decent artist. How many masterpieces did you actually forge and swap out in your heyday?”

“Isn’t that information on the Internet?” Neal asked sarcastically.

“There were a lot of estimates,” Dylan agreed, “but I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“That’s not going to happen, Buddy,” Neal shot back. “You’re just going to have to use your imagination like everybody else.”

“Well, my imagination is going wild right now,” the boy was suddenly animated as he plopped himself down on the couch. “I read about all the thefts, and they weren’t just of dusty old paintings. You supposedly stole rare coins, jewelry, old maps, even a golden orb and scepter. One time, it was a friggin’ queen’s crown. You ran Ponzi schemes and frauds on some very rich people. The Feds could never find any of your cache. I’m guessing you have a gazillion dollars stashed away somewhere in the Caribbean or Switzerland just sitting there waiting for you. If you took off and escaped, the cops probably could never find you. Don’t you ever get the itch to just blow this place?”

Neal decided to play the game. “Look, my friend, being impulsive only gets you into trouble. Maybe teenagers crave instant gratification, but real grown ups learn to be patient and think things through before doing something crazy and rash. Those are my words of wisdom for tonight. Maybe it’s time for you to go back to your own home and think about them.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m some dumb, immature kid,” Dylan pouted.

“I guess you’ll just have to prove that you aren’t,” Neal challenged.

“That’s harsh and unfair,” Dylan sputtered. “I came here to see someone I really admire, and now you’re getting off by dissing me. I wanted pointers not insults.”

“Look, kid,” Neal sighed, “I don’t want to be your superhero. Go find yourself another Captain America or Incredible Hulk. I’m not interested in being a mentor or a pal to you. If you need a role model, maybe you can join that Big Brother organization and emulate someone much more worthy.”

“I already know _you_ , and I want to be _you_ ,” Dylan insisted.

“And I know you,” Neal answered softly, “maybe even better than you know yourself.”

Dylan snorted. “Right—intuitive confidence man, and all that. You study your marks to find out what makes them tick, and you play on their fears, desires, motivations, and even their kinks so you can get what you want.”

“If you say so,” Neal said nonchalantly.

“So, okay, Dr. Freud, tell me all about myself, or, at least, what you think you know,” the annoying kid threw down the gauntlet.

Neal sat down opposite the teenager and leaned back casually as he furrowed his brow. “I think you are a fairly intelligent young man who is bored and unhappy with his life. You see your father as a dull milquetoast, and you probably think that your hovering mother is smothering you. You resent your parents because they’re nosy, and they seem to always want to get in your business. You feel that you’re an adult capable of making your own decisions, and you shouldn’t have to wait for their input. More often than not, you feel that they are talking _at_ you rather than _with_ you, and that makes you feel diminished and angry. You long to be someone else—anybody else, for that matter. So, you’ve decided to invent a different and more powerful persona.

So, if that’s the case, you must then decide who the new and more commandingly impressive Dylan is going to be. You crave respect from your peers because you don’t seem to be getting it at home. You know you have to stand out so people will sit up, take notice, and be awed. You look around and try to decide who gets respect and deference in your school, and you find yourself gravitating to them. Unfortunately, your paragons of power are tough guy punks. But, hey, you’re committed to improving your station in life, so what the hell?”

Neal noticed a flush making its way up the neck of the young man who was trying so hard to look disinterested and skeptical. “How am I doing so far?” Neal probed.

“I guess you think you’re on a roll,” the boy said uncertainly, “so don’t let me stop you.”

Neal was obliging. “I also think there may be one particular person that you really want to impress with your prowess, and I think it’s a girl.”

Now the flush had blossomed into a full-blown telltale embarrassing blush on the boy’s face.

“I’m guessing that you like her a lot and want to impress her, so that’s what the piercing and the tattoo is all about,” Neal said as he gestured to the black ink peeking out from under the short sleeve on the boy’s t-shirt.

Dylan suddenly looked sheepish instead of belligerent. “She has a little diamond chip on the side of her nose and a tiny little red rosebud on her shoulder,” the kid murmured, looking more than ever like a wistful, moonstruck adolescent.

“So, you had to appear macho and get one that looked more manly,” Neal theorized.

Dylan pulled up his sleeve to reveal a fierce-looking dragon breathing fire. “It’s a dupe for one of the monsters in my favorite video game. It’s like all-powerful and awesome.”

Neal smiled. “Did she like it?”

“I think she did, or, at least, that’s what she said,” Dylan whispered hesitantly.

“It doesn’t always have to be something stupendous to get girls to notice you,” Neal said softly. “Sometimes, it’s the little things that impress them the most. Grand gestures of a Broadway show and a pre-fixe dinner at Sardi’s may be overkill. Maybe what they’d really prefer is a hamburger at McDonalds and a movie. If you come away with any insights after this talk, just remember that women are complicated creatures and it’s very easy to hurt them in so many ways. You crave respect, Dylan, and girls deserve your respect as well. Kind and gentle guys are just as alluring and attractive as bad boys.”

“I guess with your looks you didn’t have to work very hard to get girls to like you,” the kid said quietly, almost like a challenge.

Neal sighed. “From my experience, it’s your behavior after you manage to find that special one which ultimately sets the tone of the relationship.”

Talking about young love had suddenly brought so many feelings of angst to Neal’s mind. He wasn’t just giving lip service to this kid; he was speaking from experience. Kate had captured a young Neal’s heart and soul all those years ago, and he had wanted to place the world at her feet in adoration. He’d wanted to impress and awe her with his prowess as well as his intellect and cleverness. That had been his tragic flaw. Time after time, he had overshot the mark, and he couldn’t seem to keep her happy no matter how tremendously valuable the prizes were that he offered. There always seemed to be another mountain that he had to climb for her to appreciate his devotion. Well, hindsight was 20/20, and Dylan had years to go and probably much heartache to endure before that wisdom was acquired on his end.

“Look, Dylan, I don’t want to lecture you or belabor a point. That’s not why you came here tonight,” Neal finally said. “I’m sorry, but there will be no helpful hints from me about how to become a successful criminal—well, maybe just one,” Neal teased. “Good con men, even mediocre thieves, need to blend in and not stand out. Body piercings and tattoos are distinguishing marks that people remember and can describe to the authorities. Just give that some thought if you insist on pursuing your life of crime.”

“Yeah, well thanks, I guess,” the teenager snarked as he watched Neal rise and go to his door to hold it open. “I guess you want me to go.”

“See, you are a smart fellow,” Neal smiled.

Dylan stood and moved toward the con man. “Hey, Neal, maybe we could catch a game together some night at the Garden?” he said, almost too offhandedly.

Neal smiled ruefully. “That may not be something that would make either your Dad or my handler very happy. You’d be swapping one criminal associate for another.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dylan said as he shrugged defensively and refused to make eye contact.

Neal watched the boy rush past him and heard his thundering steps recede down the stairs. Well, that hadn’t gone very well. The con man had warned Peter that he wasn’t good with kids, and now that one seemed to have glommed onto him, it was a cross and a responsibility he didn’t wish to bear. Neal wondered if he should inform the FBI agent about this little impromptu visit tonight, then decided against opening that can of worms. Neal certainly didn’t wish to earn his own lecture from Peter regarding how he had probably mishandled the awkward situation. He could only hope that he had managed to be the perfect blend of condescending and inhospitable so that he had put a lid on the kid’s enthusiastic hero worship. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove to be the case.


	3. Please Help Me

It was almost one month to the day when Neal saw Dylan Dunlop’s number pop up on the screen of his unlisted cellphone one evening. Before Neal even had the opportunity to ask how the annoying kid had obtained it, he heard the distressed and rushed words tumble out.

“Neal, you have to help me! Please, I’m in big trouble!” the kid almost sobbed.

“Calm down, Dylan. Just tell me what’s going on,” Neal said slowly.

“Well, um, I was with two of my buddies tonight up on Lexington, and we all went into this bodega,” the boy said between hastily inhaled breaths. “Neal, they really hurt the guy behind the counter. They pistol-whipped him even though he was giving them the money! He might even be dead! We all ran in different directions afterwards just like we planned, but now I’m out here on the streets all by myself watching a shitload of cop cars whiz by me.”

“Tell me exactly where you are, Dylan,” Neal insisted. “I’ll come to you.”

“I hustled up to Times Square and tried to blend in with everybody,” the boy answered. “I’m afraid to go home. I’m afraid to do anything!”

“Just stay put for now,” Neal advised. “I’ll find you as soon as I get there.”

Neal hastily caught a cab and slipped the driver a C-note to put the pedal to the metal and drop him off in the center of Manhattan. He made a few circuits around the crowded mecca popular with tourists until he spotted Dylan hunkered down on one of the benches trying to look small and inconspicuous. He had on an army surplus peacoat, and a black knit watch cap was jammed down low on his head. When Neal pulled the kid to his feet, he felt the tremors in the boy’s arm. The tugging had also caused the kid’s coat to gape open, and Neal was shocked to see the butt of a black gun protruding from beneath the waistband of his jeans. The con man immediately jerked the coat closed and stared hard at the frightened teenager.

“A fuckin’ gun, Dylan? That has to be the stupidest stunt you’ve ever pulled!” Neal hissed.

“It’s not real,” the boy whined. “It’s just a prop from one of my video games.”

“Did your two partners in crime also have toy guns?” Neal demanded to know.

“I don’t know, maybe not. I didn’t actually ask them,” Dylan said miserably.

“Well, you keep your coat closed and we’re going to walk away slow and easy. Can you do that?” Neal asked firmly.

When he saw the kid nod, they drifted off along the street until Neal pulled his little delinquent into a souvenir shop that pandered to tourists. Neal calmly purchased a scarf with cash that said, _“I Love New York.”_ When they were again out on the night street, Neal deftly lifted the offensive “weapon” without Dylan realizing a thing. The next moment the boy observed Neal covertly running the polyester piece of cloth quite thoroughly over every part of the pistol. On the next block, it landed in a trash receptacle wrapped in the scarf.

When they came abreast of a movie theater, Dylan was surprised to see Neal purchase two admission tickets to a picture starring some popular blond actress in a romantic tearjerker. Neal pulled the confused kid inside, but instead of going in to find seats, Neal sat the boy down in the refreshment area. Neal needed more information about this disturbing crisis.

“Tell me everything!” he demanded. “Don’t leave out any details!”

When Dylan looked stubborn, Neal impatiently tried again. “Did you and your moron pals just sashay into that bodega waving your hardware around and start demanding cash? Did you really expect that the cashier was going to calmly hand it over and say, ‘Here you go, fellas. Have a nice night?’ Did you even try to disguise yourselves during this debacle? That’s a lot of questions I need the answers to, so, c’mon, Dylan, be straight with me because your ass is on the line right now!”

“Nobody will ever see our faces because one of the guys blasted the security camera to smithereens,” Dylan admitted.

“So, you lied to me,” Neal said sharply. “Apparently, not everybody in your little crew was carrying a toy gun!”

“I guess not,” Dylan mumbled ashamedly.

Neal was livid. “Damn it, kid, guns can kill people, and any poor slobs who get in the line of fire are not some enhanced high-tech graphic images on a video arcade game. They’re real people who may have loved ones, families, and friends who care if they leave this earth prematurely because some callous psychopath got trigger happy. Do you really hear what I’m saying? Murder victims start out as real, living, breathing persons just like you and me. They’re not just meaningless collateral damage when some stupid desperado decides to strut his stuff. Hurting innocent people doesn’t make you look manly. It makes you look sadistic and cruel. Is that what you want your reputation to be?”

Dylan shook his head miserably and asked in a small, wavering voice, “Do you think the guy may really be dead? I never, ever wanted something like that to happen. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Well, I have no way of knowing what his status is,” Neal answered. “If he is dead, that’s a capital crime, and just because you didn’t actually hit him, you’re still an accomplice and will do hard time if the cops catch you.”

“I think the other two guys got away,” the teenager said, “but even if they didn’t, they’d never narc on me.”

“Oh, grow up, boy!” Neal said in exasperation. “Street scum get really chatty when they’re jammed up and backed into a corner. Your good buddies would drop a dime on their own grandmothers if it helped them to get a lesser sentence.”

“So, I guess there’s no such thing as honor among thieves,” Dylan mumbled.

“Pull your head out of your ass, kid, and get with the program. Right now I’m your only hope of ducking this shit if it hits the fan,” Neal said sarcastically.

“Why would you go out on a limb for me?” the boy asked suspiciously.

Neal sighed. “Because I think maybe under all the surliness and gangsta swagger, you really are just a mixed up kid. You got in over your head in a place where, deep down, you realize you really don’t want to be. I’m going to have faith that you can stop this dangerous spiraling and get back on course. Am I just being a fool to believe that you have any redeeming value, Dylan?”

“You’re not a fool, Neal,” the teenager said under his breath.

“Well don’t make me regret this, my young friend,” Neal reminded him. “I can be your alibi for tonight. Your cellphone, if it’s ever checked, will show that you placed a call to me tonight and it will ping off a tower near Times Square. You can say that you wanted me to hang out with you and maybe go to a movie in the city. My FBI handler always checks my anklet data, and that will show that I came here to this theatre tonight. Take one of these receipts and hold on to it. That will prove that you were here as well. The timeline isn’t exactly perfect, but it may hold up, and you could actually come out of this looking somewhat innocent.”

“But I’m not really innocent, am I?” Dylan said, finally looking Neal in the eye. “Do you think you could somehow find out how the bodega guy is. You work for the FBI so you must have ways of checking on crimes that happen in the city.”

“I’ll have a friend of mine see what he can do about that in the morning. But right now, you and I are going to be stuck sitting through some god-awful movie!”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Mozzie reported that the beaten cashier from the previous night’s robbery had suffered a concussion and some deep facial lacerations, but they weren’t life-threatening injuries. Neal decided to let Dylan sweat for awhile before letting him off the hook. Guilt may be a good thing in this instance. Mozzie also managed to hack the police precinct blotter and gleaned that the cops had zilch in the robbery case—no leads and no suspects—just three unidentified perps that the bodega owner couldn’t describe because of the resulting haziness from his head injury. However, that wasn’t the end of it because, unfortunately, a suspicious Peter had his own questions for his CI.

“When I pulled a map up of your whereabouts last night, Neal, I was surprised to see you took in a movie on Broadway. I checked and it was some chick flick, and that doesn’t seem to be something that fits into your wheelhouse.”

Neal huffed out a disgusted sigh. “Peter, there are tons of interesting documentaries, cop shows, and even Viking movies that you could stream from Netflix or Amazon Prime on your laptop. Why are you so interested in my innocent and boring anklet data?”

“It makes me feel happy and secure,” Peter smirked. “Now, stop with the distraction. Why a Wednesday night chick flick?”

“Maybe I have a sensitive side,” Neal answered carefully. “Perhaps I have hidden depths that you don’t know about, Peter.”

“I’m thinking it’s more likely you had some pretty little date who dragged you there,” Peter teased. “Care to share? You do realize I have ways of finding out everything about your life while you’re under my supervision.”

Neal favored his handler with a scowl. “If you must know, I went to the movies with Dylan Dunlop, your old friend’s problem child that you grilled a few weeks ago.”

“I didn’t know that you had any further interaction with that boy,” Peter said in surprise.

“Well, he stopped over my place a few weeks ago,” Neal admitted, “and I thought that was the end of it. But then last night, out of the blue, I get a phone call from him. So, we ended up hanging out.” Neal was providing just a truthful innocuous outline without embellishing. Less was more—too much unnecessary detail could get you into trouble and he didn’t want to lie to Peter.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me about this?” Peter asked in concern.

Neal shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t be pleased to know that Dylan had latched on to the likes of me. You’d probably get all judgy and decide I was a bad influence on an impressionable teenager.”

Peter gave this some thought. “Maybe I wouldn’t have thought that, Buddy. I believe, deep down, you have a good heart and would never try to twist or distort a trusting kid’s perceptions of what is right or wrong. I think you have more integrity than that. Actually, Neal, I think mentoring Dylan like a big brother may be a good thing.”

“Huh,” Neal said in amazement. “Maybe you’re the one with hidden depths, Peter, because sometimes you surprise me.”

“I do have my moments,” Peter replied smugly.

“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll take my new little project to a Knicks game over the weekend,” Neal put his toe in the water.

“Hey, maybe I could tag along,” Peter was suddenly animated.

Neal produced a mocking little grin. “That would be really lame, Peter! Movin’ on,” he called over his shoulder as he escaped to his desk in the bullpen leaving Peter open-mouthed and scowling.

“Judgy, lame, movin’ on?” Peter muttered. Maybe a certain teenager was the one rubbing off on a suave and sophisticated con man!


End file.
